Persuasion
by bonne-noir
Summary: To some, it's the sharpness of their claws, but the true masters know the key lies in the spoken word.


**A/N: I was reading through a Warriors author chat script the other day and Vicky said something along the lines of "Tigerstar is a brilliant politician. He says what cats want him to hear, not what he believes." Well, naturally this plot bunny has been eating away at me ever since xD**

**This takes place place right before the ShadowClan rogues attack ThunderClan. That's the first book, right?**

**Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. You know the drill.**

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The night was cold and still; not a sound rustled in the trees. The sky was dyed the deepest black it had known in some time. No light shone from the new moon or from the stars buried behind storm clouds. The darkness seemed to seep into the ground below, turning the leaves a dark green and encasing the land in shadows.

Barely visible in the night, a dark tabby made his way through the brambles. His claws, too long to fully fit inside his paws, scraped the dirt ever so slightly with each step, but the sound was so faint it was only perceptible to his keen ears. A sleeping wood mouse wouldn't even miss a breath should the tom prowl by.

Coming to a halt, the tom closed his eyes and drew in the night air. The musty smells of the night flooded his senses, but he strained his mind to focus on just one scent among them. A warmth hit his glands, carrying with it a smell he could only compare to an aging rat blended with some mud drying in the sun. Yes, this was the place.

Carefully, he picked his way through the dead leaves still coating the ground from the previous leaf-fall. He found himself at the same patch of ferns as the day before, and just beyond it was the newly familiar clearing. He lowered his massive body to the ground. Not a leaf quivered as he hid himself among the greenery.

Once settled, he drew in a breath so deep it shook his lungs and held it. Eyes closed and ears pricked, he honed in on the sounds just beyond the wall of underbrush. Most of what he heard was the rhythmic rise and fall of cats breathing in slumber, but he could just barely make out the low whispers of two cats. Their tones seemed to rise and fall, as fleetingly and elusively as the wind, but he could just barely pick up on the scattered words of 'go back there' and 'make them pay for what they did.'

When at last the voices grew silent, he knew that his time had come. He had gone over this so many times in his head, and it was laying itself before him so perfectly it was as if StarClan themselves were unfolding it with their starry paws.

Pushing himself up with his broad muscles, he made sure to rustle the ferns' leaves with his tabby fur. Immediately, a pair of white ears pricked, and gray eyes found their way to his dark form.

"Who's there?"

The tabby chuckled. This was perfect. Those were even the exact words he had envisioned the tom saying.

Slowly, making sure that the waking cats got just the right view of him, the tabby emerged from the underbrush. "Greetings, Blackfoot."

"_Tigerclaw!_" It was Blackfoot who had spoken, but every cat present echoed his hiss.

"Yes, yes, I am Tigerclaw." The ThunderClan warrior sat down and curled his tail across his paws. "You are Blackfoot, and you are accompanied by Boulder and a pair of rogues. I'm glad we're all acquainted with each other, now if we could please get on with business-"

"Business?" Boulder interrupted—or at least thought he did, but Tigerclaw had come to a stop expecting a cat to speak up. "What business does a ThunderClan cat have with us? Shouldn't you be all snuggled up asleep in your cozy nest right now?"

"Quiet, Boulder." Blackfoot stepped in front of the silver tom, curving his body as to completely intercept him and Tigerclaw. Turning towards the tabby, he meowed, "But he is right. What does ThunderClan want with us?"

Tigerclaw allowed a glint appear in his eyes. "Who says I am here on ThunderClan business?"

Blackfoot narrowed his eyes and unsheathed his claws. "So you're either suggesting that you're a traitor or hiding the fact that you're a spy. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip out your throat."

"I can give you two, actually. One-" As he spoke, Tigerclaw stood up and began to circle the cats. Blackfoot and Boulder stood strong, their eyes following his every step, but the two rogues appeared wary of their current entrapment. "-you couldn't, actually, 'rip out my throat' as you say. You could launch yourself at me with your claws outstretched, and I would merely sidestep, or throw my own weight at you. As you and I both know, that would much more likely end with your throat spilling on this dirt."

As he completed his second circle, he settled himself down directly across from Blackfoot. If they were only a few pawsteps closer, there noses would be touching. "And two: I don't want that. You don't want that. So why don't we _not_, as to indulge in our respective desires."

Blackfoot growled deep in his throat. He lifted his forepaw, releasing the claws he had dug into the dirt. For a heartbeat, it looked as if he were about to throw himself at Tigerclaw, but slowly he sunk his claws back into the ground and allowed his fur to lay flat. "Then indulge me. What is this desire of yours?"

"Blackfoot, Blackfoot. What is the desire of any cat?" Blackfoot's gray eyes lit up for a moment, and Tigerclaw knew he had his interest. He settled himself down with his tail and paws tucked beneath his torso, all signs and means of aggression gone. "Every cat to ever set paw in this forest has wanted one thing and one thing alone: power. Some want it to help the ones they love, others want it to be heroes and save their Clans, but no matter the reason, they devote their entire lives to achieving it. However, as I'm sure a cat as well-versed as you will know, there are only two types of cats in this forest: those who dream of gaining power, and those who can."

As Tigerclaw's words sunk in, Blackfoot's muscles relaxed slightly. He retracted his claws and sat down, though his legs remained taut and ready to spring. "I suppose you would call yourself the second kind?"

Tigerclaw paused for just a moment as he considered his answer. "Yes, and no. You see, even those of the latter group need a plan."

"_Plan!"_ Boulder spat. The silver tom was in front of Blackfoot again, his wiry fur standing nearly on end. "Was taking out Brokenstar part of your plan, and sending us into exile?"

"Brokenstar." Tigerclaw stretched out the word, testing its flavor and rolling its sound on his tongue. "Yes, I suppose you would all think that Brokenstar was a cat of the second type as well. He obviously did _attain_ power, but could he _maintain_ it?"

This time it was Blackfoot who jumped up in anger. He swiftly closed the space between them and spoke his words directly to Tigerclaw's face. "Do not insult Brokenstar." Each word was punctuated like the strike of a claw.

Tigerclaw backed up only slightly—not enough to give Blackfoot any ground, but just enough to remove the white rogue from his presence.

"You misunderstand me. Brokenstar was a great cat. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that. I admired him once, actually. He was as good as a bastard kit—his father, a Clan leader, never spoke to him, and his mother wouldn't even claim him. But that little, parentless runt took control of the mighty ShadowClan. As a young warrior, I always admired his strength. As I grew, though, I learned of one important difference between us."

Tigerclaw paused to allow the suspense to grow.

"Persuasion."

To his delight, every eye in the clearing was locked on him as he continued. "Some cats, like our dear Brokenstar, see persuasion as the strength of one's teeth and the sharpness of one's claws. This is a valid notion, to be sure, and often a successful one, but as we saw in Brokenstar's case…" He allowed his voice to trail off. He had his audience right where he wanted them. Their minds would certainly fill in his words.

"Now, the way I choose to see persuasion is not through the strength of the body, but through the strength of the mind. The spoken word is the most powerful weapon any cat will ever have. Only with it will the cats of this forest bend to your will under your paw."

Blackfoot was the first to break the trance that Tigerclaw had lulled them into. "Your pretty meows aren't going to make us do what you want, Tigerclaw."

He rolled his amber eyes. "That's what I never quite liked about you ShadowClan cats. You're always so touchy."

Blackfoot and Boulder bared their teeth.

Sighing, the dark tabby shook his head in feigned disappointment. "It appears my words have been lost on you, so allow me to get to me point."

Boulder growled, "Please do."

"Brokenstar believed that violence was the answer to everything. Do you know why? Because he was a brute. Now Blackfoot, you I…" Tigerclaw once more brought himself face-to-face with the former deputy, this time on his own terms. "We're not brutes, are we?"

Blackfoot narrowed his eyes. His head was steady, gaze level with Tigerclaw's. He meowed slowly, as if unsure of his own words, "No."

"Good." The glint was back in Tigerclaw's eyes. "That's why I came to you."

Blinking slowly, Blackfoot averted his gaze. He backed away from the dark tabby, overwhelmed by the aura of ambition coming off of him in waves. Turning back, now a good distance away, he meowed, "What do you want with us?"

"Simple." Tigerclaw resumed pacing, this time in a line before the four cats. "I've spent my entire life molding the cats of ThunderClan the way I want them. Now, I have them wound tightly around my paw, so close to exactly where they need to be." He stopped in the dead center of his path and drove his forepaw into the dirt. Every cat watched it intently as it sunk into the ground and came up with a clump of soil and roots. A single storm cloud had cleared, allowing a small ray of starlight to illuminate his long gray claws.

"They just need a bit more persuasion and this forest will be mine."


End file.
